


Privacy on the Door

by 100dabbo



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Champagne, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Face-Fucking, Fantasizing, Flirting, Hotel Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Praise Kink, Stranger Sex, Waiter!Eames, Waiters & Waitresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24893137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100dabbo/pseuds/100dabbo
Summary: The bored, rich and privileged Robert Fischer stays at a hotel in London, welcoming the waiter into his room to share a bottle of champagne.
Relationships: Eames/Robert Fischer
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	Privacy on the Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AbusiveLittleBun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbusiveLittleBun/gifts).



> This is for AbusiveLittleBun, my partner in horny crime, you encourage me a lot to write filth and you're so fucking funny, I thought it was criminal that no one had gifted you a work before ♥

The pop of a champagne bottle and the subsequent pour were sounds Robert Fischer was very much used to. Posh dinners and fancy restaurants, suit and tie dress codes, and the low and constant chatter of other diners surrounding him. 

His lifestyle was one of wealth and power, visiting a different city every night on extravagant business trips, new places and hotels, hotels within which would always manage to staff some of the best waiters. With his father opposite him at the table and associates flanking his left and right, there wasn’t much to do but let his eyes wander.

They’d decided to use the hotel’s own restaurant, a rarity, considering how Michelin star establishments were often located in the heart of the many cities they went to, but with the need of an early night, such luxury wasn’t required when the food was adequate where they were already sat.

The interior’s décor wasn’t unlike what Robert often saw; high ceilings, sparkling chandeliers and masterpieces of artwork framed upon the walls, but the one thing that did catch his eye, that managed gained his attention away from the other men on his table, was the waiter approaching them.

“Anything for you fine gentleman?” He asked, letting his gaze travel across all the faces on the table before his eyes met with Fischer’s, soft blue and smiling. Despite having been in London numerous times in his life, the man’s British accent still caught him off guard with its smooth, deep tone. He smiled as he waited for a response from the men, and when his father waved him off, not deigning to give him a verbal reply, he left them, offering one last look at Robert before walking to his next table.

He couldn’t help letting his eyes trail his departure, even though he was just simply walking to the other side of the dining hall, something about him was utterly rapturing. His eyes would have still been on him if not for his father.

“Robert.” He said sternly, snapping him to attention, “Your food is getting cold.”

“Of course…” Fischer said, picking his cutlery back up to finish his meal, keeping himself aware of his peripheral and each member of staff that walked by, unable to stave the feeling disappointment when the fascinating man failed to show again.

His dinner was quickly finished, eager to leave his father and the rest of them to retreat into his room, and upon asking to be excused, he was granted permission, stepping up from the table and buttoning his suit jacket, making his way through the hotel to find the elevators.

After twenty seconds of waiting, metal doors opened, and he stepped into the lift, pushing the button for his floor, letting out a deep sigh as he was finally able to relax in his own company. His mind filtered through what he could do on his own, not having packed a book with him and knowing any and all movies available through the hotel’s television wouldn’t be to his taste. Though he supposed he could always just jerk-off to the idea of that waiter.

His mind settled on that idea, and he unbuttoned his jacket to lean against the elevator wall, ready for the doors to close and take him up, but just as they started to shut, he heard a voice call out,

“Hold it!”

And so reluctantly, knowing it was a decent thing to do, he pressed to button to keep it open, expecting some other hotel guest to walk in in order to his catch a ride up, but who did slip through those doors was someone else. The waiter.

He had a platter in his hands with a shining silver dome to cover it, and he smiled in thanks to him, pushing the button of the floor he needed before shifting to the other side.

A blush began to creep up Robert’s neck and he could feel the heat of it beneath his skin, the fact that he was just planning on thinking about this man while he-

“ _No. Calm._ ” He thought to himself, clearing his throat to remain collected. His eyes darted to the waiter’s shirt, noticing the little tag displaying his name, “ _Eames_ …” And to avoid prolonged awkwardness, struck up some small talk to bear them through the two-minute ascent.

“Don’t you have separate elevators for room service?” He asked, sounding a little more calloused than he intended, but he kept his chin high to ensure he was looking curious enough for the question to seem genuine, and to his relief, Eames laughed at the question, raising his eyebrows as he answered,

“Yeah, we do, but I saw you getting into this one and thought I might as well,” His eyes met with Robert’s, “Where you off to, then?”

Robert paused, looking up towards the numbers above the door as they counted up towards the waiter’s floor.

“My room…” He replied, somewhat confused, then the elevator dinged, the doors opening up to let the other man out.

“Well,” Eames said as he stepped out, turning around to look back at him, a playful glint in his eyes, “If you need any room service, don’t hesitate to call on us, hm?”

“What would _I_ need room service for?”

“Oh, I don’t know, some late-night refreshments, perhaps?” And he grinned, walking off to the room he needed to get to, Robert unable to stop his eyes following him depart once more.

The doors closed again, and in solitude, he was taken up to his floor.

When he stepped into his room, he locked the door behind him, immediately loosening his tie and untucking his shirt to get comfortable, throwing his suit jacket onto a chair as the heat from the encounter lingered in his face. It wasn’t quite embarrassment, but he was flustered to be sure, the unexpected presence of him mixed with the coincidence of him arriving to him at the very _second_ he was thinking to-

He really was being lewd, even if it was just in his mind, and what he needed was to snap himself out of the delusion. What he needed was a cold shower. But that could wait.

He untied the laces on his shoes and eased them off of his feet, then sat on the edge of his bed, flopping himself down into the yielding mattress and soft cushions, his hair falling across his forehead and eyes staring up to the ceiling. Then his eyes darted to the pamphlet on the bedside table. The menu for room service. 

Pulling himself back up, he sighed and let a hand reach out to grab it. He flicked through, noting each food available, but after just having a meal, the last thing he was interested in was something else, and so instead began to peruse the drinks selection; gin, whisky, wine, all of which were out of his taste, then right at the bottom, Cristal champagne. Perfect. Even better if _he_ was going to deliver it.

A quick glance at his Rolex told him it was only 10pm, not too late for some late-night refreshments as that man had so suggested, and so he took up the receiver of the phone and dialled in the digits to place his order.

After a minute, it was done, and the report back was that it was to arrive within ten minutes. Putting the ridiculous over estimation of the time aside, he wondered if he would have enough time for a shower, cold or not, before it arrived, because regardless of his need to calm down, he hadn’t had a shower since the night before, and if he was required to be up early for their next journey, he would need to be clean before dredging himself out of bed.

So, he stepped into the en-suite, reaching for the shower to turn its handle, letting the water flow from the head after he slipped out of his clothes and walked into the stream, shuddering as the icy water flowed down his skin, gradually warming to a more comfortable temperature, though still cool enough to give him the refreshment he needed.

He hadn’t thought to even take his own shower products out of his luggage and in with him, and would rather use nothing than the hotel’s own, so just let himself stand beneath the stream, drenching his locks, blinking his heavy lashes through the water as it ran down his face, feeling it trickle down his chin and drip down his jaw to make him perfectly wet.

He ran his hands across his chest to immerse himself within the temperature, unable to resist the temptation of passing his palm across his cock, the slight stimulation enough to make him sigh, biting his lip to contain himself. Then there was a knock at his door.

The shower was shut off as soon as he heard it and he grabbed for his dressing gown, slipping it onto his wet arms and cinching the belt tightly around his waist, his hand pushing his soaked hair back into his usual style as well as he could.

He padded his way across the room and to the door, his hand landing on the handle to twist the lock and open it up, revealing that same waiter, Eames, with a bucket of ice, champagne and two flute glasses on a tray.

The man’s eyes widened joyfully, and he smiled.

“Ah, so you _did_ need refreshments after all!”

Fischer said nothing, far too flustered from too many factors in the situation; the fact that Eames was his room servicer and he was right there in front of him, then from his shower being cut off early, coupled with the slight embarrassment of lacking decent coverings for himself. He just opened the door wider, letting the man come in to set what he had ordered on the desk, then shut it behind him without fastening the lock.

“Two glasses?” Robert asked him, not that he’d specifically requested only one to be brought. He was met with Eames’ rationale, setting the ice and champagne down and turning his head to him,

“You see, most people that order a champagne that’s over two-hundred-and-fifty quid tend not to be having it on their own. Apologies for assuming our patrons _aren’t_ alcoholics, mate.” The same cheeky grin adorned his lips as he prepared Robert’s glass, pouring one out slowly as the bubbles foamed and rose to the top.

“Share it with me then.” Robert offered, something inside of him needing the man to stay with him and stave away the boredom of being alone with nothing to do.

Eames checked his watch. His shift was going to be finished in twenty minutes and the other staff rotation had already begun, so what was the harm in saying yes? He nodded, poured his own and raised his glass,

“To the posho who just bought a bottle of the most expensive champagne we sell!” He quipped, making Robert chuckle.

“To the waiter who wants to share it with me.” And he raised it to his lips, closing his eyes to let it slip across his tongue and down his throat, swallowing it cleanly, enjoying the flavour. When he reopened his eyes, his gaze landed back onto Eames who was already getting himself comfortable, kicking his shoes off and landing in the chair that had his jacket on it.

It’d be creased if the man stayed there, but he didn’t really care enough to make him move.

“So, I’m guessing you know my name,” Eames began, pointing to his label, “But what, my very rich friend, is yours?”

“Robert Fischer, son of Maurice Fischer.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Eames asked, smiling as his lips met with the rim of his glass once more to knock back the rest of his drink.

“Well, no, but you have him to thank for the lights being on.” He replied nonchalantly as if it wasn’t a remarkable fact, reaching for the bottle to refill their glasses.

“Is he in the room next door?” Was Eames’ next question, looking up at Robert as he approached, seeing his face make a shift in expression from somewhat neutral to slightly unnerved.

“No.” He filled the man’s glass and returned it to the ice. “He makes sure to get a room as far away as possible from me. He’s a few floors up.” 

The waiter could tell he’d hit some sort of nerve, necking his freshly filled glass without even tasting it to loosen himself up, attempting to spin the topic into something more amusing,

“Why, so he doesn’t know what type of stuff you get up to, hm?” His tone was as playful as his smile, clearly trying to make some sort of joke at Fischer’s expense, assuming his rich lifestyle might come along with a few more perks that just expensive champagne.

But Fischer raised his brow and sipped his drink.

“What kind of ‘stuff’ do you think I’d be getting up to?” He said, his defences clearly showing, displacing themselves against a harmless joke. Though to be fair, what he _was_ about to get up to did entail pleasuring himself to the image of the man before him. Still, Eames’ confidence didn’t break for a moment, and he just smirked, setting his empty glass on the table.

“Well, I thought _you’d_ be the one to tell me that…”

Fischer didn’t deign to respond, tightening the belt of his dressing gown to prevent it from slipping open even an inch, finishing off his glass with a graceful tip back of his head. Eames couldn’t help but watch his lips as they closed, the slow swipe of his tongue to chase the flavour.

“You know, we get lots of rich people like you here, but none of them carry themselves quite like you.” Eames said as he stared, narrowing his eyes as if in fascination.

“Elaborate.” Robert said, shrugging as if he didn’t understand that he was getting a compliment.

“You know that you’re expensive and worth it, y’know, but you’re not a prick about it.” He stood up from his chair to take a step towards Fischer, his lovable grin making the other man reclaim the blush that was on his cheeks in the elevator, and he held his ground, allowing the approach. God knew he loved the idea of someone taking notice of him. “Not everyone would share Cristal with a stranger is what I’m saying,” He drifted his eyes onto Robert’s chest, that small piece of skin exposed, “And in a Versace robe, no less.”

“Well, I had nothing else to do, so, here you are, paying attention to me.” Fischer justified, keeping his eyes locked with Eames’ to avoid any further assumptions being made on his character, but to his dismay, yet another one was to fall from Eames’ lips,

“Ah, so Daddy doesn’t pay you enough attention so you like getting it from strangers? Am I reading that correctly?” 

Now, Eames was hardly a psychologist, but what he was was emotionally intelligent, seeing each little quirk in Robert’s expression as he talked, each shift in momentary feeling while their short conversation ran its path, and unsurprisingly, was able to reach the correct conclusion.

He saw the twitch of Robert’s brows as he attempted to furrow them, unsure whether to be frustrated, worried, upset, or embarrassed. Instead of saying anything, his lips parted, and he breathed out slowly, the after taste of the champagne still lingering on his tongue. Then he nodded.

That made the waiter smile. The doe eyes looked back at him, their beautiful blue shining in the light, and with each of his slow blinks, his eyelashes softly touching, he breathed out just as softly.

“So, Robert,” Eames said, eyeing up the robe over his frame, “Are you gonna be a good boy and take that dressing gown off for me?”

Robert didn’t know to react as he heard it, much less how to react when his cock twitched at the question. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing as his hand rose up from his sides to hold onto the knot at his middle, fingers carefully pulling at the tie to undo it. The rope was unfastened, and the robe hung open. Then it fell from his arms, landing at his feel in a pool of soft fabric.

“I just want to destroy that mouth…” The waiter whispered, moving his hand onto his zipper where it pulled down to unfasten his trousers, “Are you gonna let me?”

The other man nodded, slowly drifting his hands to Eames’ waist, resisting the temptation to bite his lip.

“Kneel.” He was commanded, and Robert took no hesitation in sinking down, his head level with Eames’ crotch. He took it upon himself to tug the trousers down, and the underwear too, revealing a cock of the sort of size one would expect from him. “Open.”

Being ever obedient, Fischer unhinged his jaw, extending his tongue to ensure that when that dick landed in his mouth, he could save it from scraping against his teeth. 

Soft fingers from one hand traced into his damp locks, getting a grip from the back, while the other took the length and slid it onto Robert’s tongue. The weight was welcomed with a quiet moan, his heart pounding in anticipation of getting his mouth used, because while he had taken every dick available to him during these business trips, what he hadn’t been able to do was exactly this. Getting face fucked.

“Ready?” Eames asked, staring down into the eyes that looked back up at him.

“Yes, Daddy.” He replied, mouth still around him, eager for him to begin. And begin he did, pushing his hips forth to embed his cock down his throat in one, easing push, pleasantly surprised when the other man didn’t gag. 

His grip on Fischer’s hair tightened as he started to move his head around him, that slippery tongue and tight throat all his to play with, those beautiful lips ripe for fucking. When Robert moaned around him again, he took his other hand to his nape, shoving his cock deeper into his throat, using his hips to start thrusting quicker, enjoying both the feeling and the sounds of his wet mouth taking it in.

“Good boy, Bobby, that’s a good mouth you’ve got there…” Eames breathed, feeling himself stiffen with each slide across his tongue, and on his knees, Robert’s own dick tingled at the way Eames used him, spoke to him, _gripped_ him, and he planted his hands firmly on the man’s ankles to avoid touching himself, knowing his own gratification could come with patience.

He felt the dick in his mouth get stiffer and stiffer with each jab into his mouth, poking into his soft cheek and the warm pools of saliva collecting at the back of his throat, faster thrusts creating those salacious little whines to escape him in his effort to hold on, and when he felt the slightest urge to choke rising in him, he wrapped his lips tightly around the member, swallowing around it to take down his spittle and avoid an unwanted consequence of getting his mouth so rigorously fucked.

As he did so, the waiter groaned, the pleasure of those soft and rosy lips being put to use for what they probably did best was like ecstasy and when Fischer resumed his open jawed position, Eames couldn’t help thrusting faster, Fischer making short little gagging noises while the heavy head of the man’s cock landed at the back of his mouth, more moans accompanying them.

Then it crossed his mind how grateful he was Fischer’s father _wasn’t_ in the neighbouring room. Though, he supposed that if he were next door, Robert wouldn’t even give him the chance to get him out of his robe, this hidden-in-plain-sight slut still too desperate for approval that he wouldn’t risk any sort of disturbance. But, the way he moaned ‘daddy’ around his cock with a drooling mouth turned him on too much to let his mind wander any further than that.

Any more of it, however, would be sure to see him coming down that tight throat, and so he eased himself out of it, delighted with the way his hungry lips closed around it as if in chase, a single string of spit connecting the tip to his wet lips.

“Was I good, Daddy?” Fischer panted, the innocence in his wide eyes one of the most beautiful things Eames had ever seen, and he smirked, caressing the man’s jaw,

“Yes, of course Bobby,” He praised, seeing him starving for some sort of commendation for his efforts, “Now, be a good boy and get up on the bed.”

Fischer didn’t pause for a second, climbing right onto the mattress and laying face down, letting his cock brush against the soft linen sheets for the slightest stimulation. Then feeling Eames’ weight as he knelt up behind him. His hand landed on the back of his thigh, slowly traveling up towards his cheek, fingertips tracing across the smooth skin. He dug his fingers into the flesh and spread him out, getting a good look at him.

“Do you want to fuck me, Daddy?” Robert asked, unable to help himself squirming in Eames’ hold to tempt him more, almost impatient for him to begin, then the other man hummed, venturing his thumb to start circling around his hole.

“You’re tight, aren’t you, hm? My tight little boy…” He whispered, teasing the hole, “Any lubricant?”

Robert lifted his hand to point towards one of his suitcases where his things still lay, folded and neat in their places. Without another word, Eames stood from the bed and walked to the luggage, Fischer watching as he took the time to strip off his shirt and kick the trousers from his legs, kneeling down to open the case.

What he saw within it shouldn’t have surprised him, really, even after knowing Robert for the better half of an hour, but he still couldn’t stop himself from a quiet gasp. The entire trunk had been dedicated to lingerie, and lots of it; different shades from light pastels to deep, rich hues, soft materials of lace, silk, cotton and mesh, with unique styles including slips, panties, thongs, stockings, bralettes… Oh, what he’d give to have arrived five minutes earlier to see Robert in one of those.

He eventually located the man’s lubricant after rifling through them all, and without mentioning what he’d just seen, took the bottle back to the bed with him, popping the cap and slicking it over his fingers, returning them to his hole in teasing little movements.

Fischer whined at the touch, his toes curling and muscles tensing while Eames made the intrusion, sinking his index deep inside of him. An obligatory ‘daddy’ slipped past his lips, pushing his face into the mattress while another came in, dragging themselves through his insides in slow, pistoning motions. His teeth embedded into his lip, keening himself by angling his hips up, letting Eames get the leverage he needed to open him up, starting to scissor conservatively to not give him too much pleasure too quickly.

Then, after he was satisfied Robert was ready, he gave him one, last deep hook, rubbing once against his sweet spot before withdrawing them, a whimpering noise coming out of him the second he was empty. 

Eames slicked his cock, occupying his hand by stoking himself as he kept on teasing the man before him. His free hand landed back on Robert’s arse to spread him out once more, seeing his hole slightly shiny from the lube, and he goaded him before he began,

“Do you want Daddy to fuck you, hm?”

“Yes,” The man said, nodding emphatically, the strings of wet hair flopping across his forehead, “Of course, Daddy.”

So Eames grabbed Fischer’s hips, pulling him up for him to be knelt, his face still pressed against the sheets, and he laded the head of his cock onto his hole. Slowly, he pushed in, relishing in the immediate heat and grip of him, unable to contain a groan when he reached his hilt, Robert a panting mess below him.

His hands slid upwards to his narrow waist, digging his fingers into his soft flesh as he drew back and slammed back in, Fischer’s desperate moan encouraging him to pick up his pace even more, beginning a moderate rhythm.

“What do you say, Bobby?” Eames asked him, looking down on his face, his heavy, lustful eyes blinking through each thrust, his hands clawing at the sheets and taking fistfuls to bear him through it.

“Tha—” He began, cut off from the pleasure of Eames’ force hitting his prostate, “Thank you, Daddy!” He shrieked, the sensation too good, hardly able to keep himself from crying as the man drove in again and again, stretching him out around his girth, taking him as his own little plaything. It made his neglected little cock stiffen, leaking out pre-ejaculate that dripped in a clear string onto the sheets. He moaned louder and shamelessly begged for touch,

“Please, Daddy, _please_ touch me!”

Eames didn’t move his hands an inch, comfortable with them planted on his waist, keeping him right there without the option to move.

“Touch yourself, Bobby…” He instructed, watching as the man slowly raised his hand from beneath him to grab onto his own dick, jerking it in short little strokes of desperation, moaning to express his contentment and pleasure.

Never in his life could he have expected such a fortunate turn of events, the exact scenario that might have been in his fantasy, the things that were required for this to occur, for him to have even taken notice of the waiter; being in this hotel, dining in this restaurant, having him be his room servicer… It was too good to be true, and yet, he was there, pounding him from behind with long and fast thrusts, an exquisite, possessive grip on his middle, filthy instructions coming out of his mouth, all of which he would gladly obey.

He could feel his climax approaching, every drive edging him closer to completion, the torrent of bliss to flood his system, and he wailed louder and louder, uncaring of his volume, not even bothering to muffle himself into the mattress.

“Tell me how you like it, Bobby.” The waiter commanded, seeing Robert turn his head slightly to make eye contact.

“Oh! I love it, Daddy, _fuck me!_ ” Was all he could breathe out, his own palm still furiously stroking, “I’m gonna come!”

“Oh, you’re such a good boy, Bobby, you’re making Daddy so proud, being his tight little whore…”

Fischer finished on the spot from that. He bit his lip, moaning deeply while he spilled onto the sheets, the jerk of his wrist spending him completely with utter bliss. Eames was amazed at the display, the way his hole clenched around him, the way his thighs shuddered, and toes curled, his beautiful eyes screwing themselves shut - all of it a pure masterpiece to witness.

“Thank you, Daddy!” He whispered, letting his muscles lax while he continued to get fucked, the man behind him nearing his own end too.

“Do you want Daddy to finish inside? Hm?” He asked, ready to hear the affirmative and get it done, and when Robert nodded again, gripping the sheets in preparation, he leant forward, angling as deep as he could, and spent himself inside; grunting, gripping and grandiose in his last few second within the other man.

He pulled himself out with care, Robert collapsing onto his front the second he was gone, humming through his afterglow. The waiter slipped back into his underwear, shamelessly letching at what he’d left behind, and offered a quip,

“How were your late-night refreshments, Mr Fischer?”

And Robert laughed, turning himself around and propping himself up by his elbows,

“Oh, simply divine…” His eyes darted to the half full champagne bottle, “Care to finish it off with me?”

And while it was tempting to just stay in that five-star room with a rich man and drink luxurious wine until he was pissed, his responsibilities came first.

“Apologies, sir, but I’ve got the morning shift and should be going home now, though I appreciate your generosity.”

“Of course…” And Robert smiled, watching him step back into his clothes, neatly brushing them off and straightening himself out.

“In London for much longer?” The waiter asked with some sort of hope in his tone, leaning back against the desk to remain casual. Robert’s eyes softened and he shook his head,

“No, we’re gonna set of in the morning, Paris is next.”

“Well, I bid you safe travels, and you know where I am the next time you’re here,” His playful grin etched back into his face, “And you be a good boy, yeah?” Then with a wink, he left the room, swiping the ‘do not disturb’ sign from the desk and leaving it to hang on the door handle as he closed it shut.

The morning saw Robert up early, having a proper shower and styling his hair perfectly, slipping into a neat suit and leaving his things neatly packed for the bellboy to collect for him. 

Within the elevator, the descent had him thinking of the last time he was in it the night prior, Eames standing with a platter, seeing his cheeky grin just thirty minutes before getting fucked speechless by him. One thing was for sure, and that was that he would definitely be returning to London within the next few weeks.

The doors opened to the lobby once the elevator reached the ground floor, and his father was stood waiting for him.

“Robert, we’re having breakfast here before we leave.” He said, giving him no choice in the matter.

“Of course.” He replied, moving into the dining rooms, taking their table to wait for a server. The pair sat in silence, nothing at all to say to one another, and it wasn’t until a server approached that either of them said a word. Unsurprisingly with the morning shift, it was Eames.

His smile was probably wider than it would be for greeting his regular diners, catching sight of Fischer to look him in the eyes as he asked,

“Either of you gentlemen care for a tea with your breakfast?”

Robert was speechless and only stared down at the table to keep his father’s eyes away from the blush spreading across his cheeks. Not that he’d look at his face anyway.

“Two, he’ll have decaf.” His father said, and as soon as it was written down in Eames’ notes, he made his leave, though not before opening his mouth once more,

“Good lad.” 

And he winked, slipping his notepad into his pocket, chuckling to himself as Robert’s eyes widened and a rose blush stained his freckled cheeks with exquisite mortification.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed :) Check me out on [Tumblr](https://100dabbo.tumblr.com/)!


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